A Chance for the Rancher
Page 5
Looking around the kitchen now, she was pleased to see that Gus’s natural-stained maple cabinets remained, though the scarred and chipped laminate countertops had been replaced by dark granite. An island had been installed where the former owner’s pedestal table and chairs had previously sat, and the high-end appliances were obviously new.
Patrick opened a cupboard beside the coffee maker and retrieved two mugs, then filled both with coffee and handed one to Brooke.
“Have a seat,” he invited, gesturing to the four stools lined up at the island.
She accepted the mug and sat.
Patrick remained standing on the other side of the island, facing her.
“Do you cook?” she asked, eyeing the six-burner cooktop and double ovens. “Or are you planning to hire someone to prepare meals for your guests?”
“I suspect paying guests will expect a little more variety and substance than I can manage, so I’ll hire someone,” he said.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what made you decide to walk away from an executive position at Blake Mining to take on something like this?”
It was a question Patrick had been asked by more than a few people after he’d tendered his resignation, and one he still wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.
“I wanted a change,” he replied, because it was true if not the whole truth.
“So you’re just a spoiled little rich boy playing at being a rancher?” she mused, the teasing tone taking the sting out of her words.
“I can’t deny the spoiled or rich part,” he said. “But I’m neither little nor a boy.”
“Spoiled big rich man, then,” she noted.
“And I’m not playing at anything. This ranch isn’t a whim or a hobby, though my parents have occasionally labeled it as both,” he acknowledged. “It’s my new life.”
“What was wrong with your old life?” she asked curiously.
“Too much money and too little responsibility.”
“Said no one ever,” Brooke chimed in.
“I know it sounds strange,” he admitted. “And maybe there will come a day that I want to go back to Blake Mining, where I’m expected to occupy a chair at board meetings but not actually have an opinion about anything—or worse, dare to express it.”
“Was it really so bad?”
“Probably not,” he allowed. “But the more time I spent there, the more I realized that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life there.”
“But why a dude ranch?” she wondered.
“It’s a vacation ranch,” he said. “And truthfully, the idea wasn’t even mine. It kind of came out of the blue as a result of me being late for the bachelor party of one of my college friends. When I explained that I’d been helping my grandfather brand the new calves at Crooked Creek, my buddies all started ribbing me about playing cowboy. So of course I said they only wished they had the same opportunity to escape their boring corporate jobs every once in a while, which led to a surprisingly coherent and meaningful conversation about the conflict between making a living and having a life.
“Anyway, it was Josh who said that when it was time for his bachelor party, instead of getting drunk and losing his money in Vegas, he wanted us all to go to a dude ranch.”
“You bought Gus Sterling’s ranch in order to host your buddy’s bachelor party?” she asked incredulously.
He chuckled. “No. Josh wasn’t even dating anyone at the time, so his bachelor party wasn’t—and isn’t—anywhere on the horizon. But his comment did get me thinking. After all, I knew a little bit about ranching, a little bit more about business, and I had available funds to invest in a new venture.” He shrugged. “So when I heard that Gus was looking to sell, I took it as a sign that the time was right to pursue a career change.”
“I would expect someone who buys a ranch to know more than a little bit about ranching,” she noted.
“I knew enough to keep on Levi and Dean to look after the cattle.”
She nodded, obviously recognizing the names of Gus Sterling’s longtime ranch hands.
“They have more than forty combined years of experience and have probably forgotten more about cattle than I could ever hope to know,” he continued.
“What would you have done if they’d wanted to move on when Gus sold?” Brooke asked.
“I probably would have considered selling the herd,” he admitted. “Except that a cattle ranch without cattle isn’t likely to draw many visitors.”
“Not likely,” she agreed.
“But Gus had good stock that I felt confident would do well with guests of various levels of experience and could be used for ranch work as well as on trails and for riding lessons. Which is one of the reasons I felt so awful when I realized Ranger was injured,” he confided to her now.
“I know I gave you a hard time about the unlatched gate, but the truth is, coronary band injuries are quite common and can have any number of causes.”
He nodded. “But I also know his injury is more severe than is common.”
“He’s going to need some time to heal,” she said.
“And the attentive care of a good vet,” he added.
“In coordination with the farrier,” she said. “Gavin Torres is out of town this weekend, but he promised to stop by on Monday to check on Ranger and assess long-term options.”
“You think there’s going to be permanent damage,” he realized.
“Damage to the coronary band usually results in slow and abnormal hoof growth, but it doesn’t necessarily affect the animal’s mobility or utility. Once it’s healed, Gavin will be able to determine the best method to support the hoof during regrowth and give your stallion the best chance for a complete recovery.”
Before his mind could wander too far down that dark path, she shifted the conversation again.
“It takes a lot of courage to step outside your comfort zone and try something new,” she said. “And I really hope the ranch works out for you.”
“Thanks. Of course, I do have a job waiting for me at Blake Mining if it doesn’t,” he pointed out.
“And now I’m a little less impressed,” she said, but tempered the words with a smile.
“What about you?” he asked. “What made you want to become a vet?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I only know that it’s what I always wanted to do, and I feel grateful every day that I’m lucky enough to do it.”
“I’m sure achieving your goal had more to do with hard work than good luck.”
“There was a lot of hard work,” she agreed.
“So maybe it’s time to let yourself have a little bit of fun,” he suggested.
“Is fun supposed to be some kind of code for sex?” she asked dubiously.
“Sex is fun if you do it right,” he said.
She shook her head. “Unfortunately, I’m too busy with real responsibilities to have time for a fling with a pretend cowboy.”
When he’d decided to make a drastic career change, he’d known that he’d need to prove himself, so he wasn’t offended by her characterization. He was more than a little disappointed, though, by her determination to fight the obvious chemistry between them. “That is unfortunate,” he agreed.
“And speaking of time—” Brooke glanced at the watch on her wrist “—I need to go if I’m not going to be late picking up Brendan.”
She lifted her mug to her lips to swallow the last mouthful of coffee, then set the cup down again and pushed her stool away from the counter.
“Where is he?” Patrick asked.
“A birthday party for one of his classmates.”
He didn’t try to persuade her to stay even a little while longer. Though he might not have the same type of responsibilities, he understood and respected her priorities.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said.
Although technically she’d kissed him, he’d practically goaded her into it.
He’d been wondering about the taste of her sweetly curved lips since their first meeting, but instead of satisfying his curiosity, the feel of her mouth against his had only stoked his desire.
A desire that he suspected no other woman could satisfy.
He wasn’t accustomed to being preoccupied by any one woman—especially a woman who’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested.
Except that her enthusiastic participation in their kiss proved her claim of disinterest was a lie.
Brooke Langley was interested, even if she didn’t want to be.
And he knew exactly how that felt.
Because she might be the hottest woman he’d met in a long time, but she wasn’t at all his type. Not because he didn’t like long-legged redheads, but because he didn’t like complications.
So why, even knowing about her child, couldn’t he get her out of his mind? What was it about her that appealed to him? Was it the challenge she presented? Was he so accustomed to getting what he wanted that he didn’t know how to accept rejection?
Or was it simply that the kiss had affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit?
Because, really, that was all it had been—a simple kiss.
Except that there was nothing simple about the way she’d felt when she was in his arms.
* * *
Brendan apparently had a great time at Tanner’s birthday party, and he talked nonstop the whole way home about everything the party guests had done at Adventure Village—“we played three games of laser tag and got four tokens for the video games”—the cake Tanner’s mom had made—“it had, like, six layers, and each one was a different color”—and all the goodies in his loot bag—“a yo-yo and a super bouncy ball and a slinky and stickers and bubble gum and a gi-nor-mous lollipop.”
Brooke was glad for his incessant chatter because it meant she wasn’t expected to contribute much to the conversation. An occasional murmur of agreement or expression of awe was enough to keep her son talking, if not quite enough to alleviate her feelings of guilt.
And she did feel guilty. Not just because her son was only getting a fraction of her attention or even because she’d kissed Patrick, but because—more than an hour and a half later—she couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.
She never should have let it happen, because now that they’d shared one kiss, she wanted more. Not just more kisses but more of everything that came after the kissing.
For the better part of eight years, she hadn’t regretted not having a man in her life. She certainly hadn’t felt as if she was missing out on anything, because she had her little boy and he made her life complete so that she didn’t need anything or anyone else. Or so she’d believed.
But now, after sharing only one kiss with Patrick, she found herself suddenly feeling a little less satisfied with her life. A little less complete. And she couldn’t help but wonder: What was it about the man that urged her to step outside her comfort zone? What was it about him that made her want more?
He’d asked what she was afraid of, and she’d told him she wasn’t afraid. But it was a lie. She was terrified of the way she felt when she was near him. The way her blood pulsed and her knees quivered; the way her blood heated and her body yearned.
She’d felt a similarly intense desire once before—eight years earlier. She’d fallen hard and fast for Xander Davis, and had her heart broken into a million little pieces as a result. Still, she’d never wished she could go back or change a single thing about their brief and passionate relationship, because it had resulted in Brendan—and her son was truly her biggest accomplishment and her greatest joy.
But her relationship with Xander had also taught her some important lessons: that passion was fleeting, romantic love was an illusion and her judgment was hopelessly flawed when her hormones were engaged. So the fact that she’d responded to Patrick as immediately and intensely as she’d responded to Xander was a great big and wildly waving red flag.
She wasn’t afraid of what might happen if she fell into bed with the wrong man, but she was afraid of what might happen if she fell in love with the wrong man again. And Patrick Stafford was, by his own admission, the wrong man.
Having an affair with him would be reckless and irresponsible. (And, if his kiss was any kind of indicator, an incredible and exquisite pleasure.)
So it was a good thing that Brooke was too levelheaded and responsible to let herself get carried away by her own wanton desires again.
But when she went to bed later that night, her lips were still tingling from the aftereffects of his kiss.
Chapter Five
The following morning, Brooke and Brendan walked over to the main house for breakfast, her son having convinced his grandfather to make banana-chocolate-chip pancakes. Not that he’d required much convincing. Bruce absolutely doted on his only grandson and was always happy to indulge his requests.
In addition to the towering stack of pancakes, there was a platter of bacon and sausage and, while her dad was scrambling eggs—because apparently it wasn’t breakfast without eggs, too—Brooke poured coffee and juice and set the table. She sometimes enlisted Brendan to help with the latter task, but as soon as they’d walked through the door, his grandmother had ushered him upstairs to go through a box of old toys that she’d found in the attic.
“Remind me again why I thought it was a good idea to move out,” Brooke said, as she stole a sausage link from the platter.
“You said you needed to stand on your own two feet so that Brendan would learn to do the same,” Bruce said. “And you were right.”
“Of course, I’m standing on my own two feet only three hundred feet away most of the time,” she acknowledged. “And in your kitchen the rest of the time.”
Her dad chuckled. “You know we don’t mind. In fact, it’s nice for your mom and me to have other people around the table. After almost thirty-eight years of marriage, we run out of things to talk about sometimes.”
“I know that’s not true,” Brooke said. “You guys are an amazing example of what a marriage should be, even after almost thirty-eight years.”
“There is no should,” Bruce said. “Every marriage is as different as the people in it. But I know I got lucky, not just with my wife but the kids we had together.”
“Especially me, right?” Brooke teased. “Because I’m your favorite.”
“You’re my favorite daughter,” her dad confirmed.
It was a familiar exchange between them, and Brooke was smiling as she began folding napkins for the table. But her mind started to wander, and she didn’t realize her dad had spoken again until she heard her name.
“I’m sorry—did you say something else?”
“Nothing important,” Bruce said, scraping the eggs out of the pan and into a bowl.
Brooke finished with the napkins, then retrieved the butter and syrup from the fridge.
“Is everything okay?” her dad asked. “You seem a little distracted this morning.”
“Just thinking about the day ahead,” she said.
It wasn’t a lie, because she had been thinking about her impending trip to the Silver Star—and seeing Patrick again. And trying to get a grip on the array of emotions that churned inside her. Because thinking about the upcoming visit made her stomach knot with excitement and apprehension.
She had no doubt the kiss she’d shared with Patrick had meant more to her than it had to him, and undoubtedly more than it should. Especially because he wasn’t interested in a woman with a child.
Except that he hadn’t kissed her like a
man who wasn’t interested.
But maybe, in the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten her single-mom status. If so, she could hardly fault him, as her son had been the furthest thing from Brooke’s mind at the time, too. In any event, she was glad that Brendan had decided he wanted to visit the ranch with her today. There was no way either she or Patrick would be able to forget her maternal responsibilities when Brendan was right there.
Bruce called his wife and grandson to breakfast before he asked Brooke, “What are your plans today?”
“Aside from a quick trip to the Silver Star, I’m hoping to do a whole lot of nothing.”
Her dad frowned. “Are you really going to go out there just to change Ranger’s dressing every day?”
“As long as that’s what the client wants and he’s willing to pay for my time,” she confirmed.
When everyone was seated at the table with their plates loaded up with food, conversation shifted to what was on her parents’ agenda for the day.
“We’re heading out to the flea market,” Sandra said.
Brooke wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never understood your fascination with flea markets.”
In her opinion, they were too crowded and noisy and musty smelling, but her mother’s eyes always lit up just like Brendan’s did when he was in front of a candy counter.
“One woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure,” Sandra said, paraphrasing.
“The ‘another woman’ being your mother,” Bruce chimed in, with a wink.
“So it would seem,” Brooke agreed.
“I’ll have you know that your apartment was primarily furnished with flea-market finds,” her mother pointed out.
Brooke knew it was true. Luckily Sandra had a knack for spotting quality materials and workmanship, even when buried beneath layers of cheap paint and unidentifiable grime. She also had the patience to strip and sand and restore, after which the finished product usually bore little resemblance to what she’d brought home from the market. Most recently she’d found an oversize coffee table that she was repurposing for Brendan’s wooden train set.